A Faint Reprise
by Nell Vance
Summary: When his fate is left in the hands of the women of Volturi, Edward discovers just how volatile the fair sex can be.
1. Part One A Faint Reprise

**Author's Note:** I came up with the idea for this one-shot after reading a number of Aro/Bella stories in which Bella is seduced by the ancient vampire during her time in Volterra. And, being me, I thought I'd put a twist on that particular part and shake things up. Obviously, I had to play with canon a little, so for the purposes of this story, the wives are the omnipotent trio of Volterra as opposed to their husbands. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**A Faint Reprise**

_It's the impossibility of womanhood that vexes me. _

_ ---Excerpt from "Boudiccea" by Faith and the Muse_

September 13, 2005--Forks, WA

Edward's smile was slightly lopsided as he gestured at the large canvas and oil that nearly took up the entire rear wall of Carlisle's study. "The Volturi are a very old, very powerful family. The closest thing to royalty my world has."

Bella followed his gaze to the painting and studied it. The lower half of the canvas was chaotic, a crowd of revelers making merry against the backdrop of an Italian piazza. Above them reigned three figures on a white stone balcony.

Her mouth dropped open. "Edward, you didn't tell me they were women!"

He laughed, somewhat dryly. "Better to show, than tell. After all, how can one properly describe _them_." There was a hint of disgust in his voice that she could not reconcile with the nymph-like figures who observed the gathering with perfect serenity.

"They're beautiful," Bella breathed, pointing to a woman painted into the foreground. She had long red hair that matched her eye pigment and looked decidedly European, while her sisters were clearly Grecian. "She's kind of how I would imagine Calypso…you know, from Homer's _Odyssey._"

This time, Edward did not laugh. Instead, his face tightened in the subdued light of a nearby desk lamp. "That's a fitting comparison," he said dropping his hands into his pockets.. "Although I'm sure Sulpicia would rather be compared to Diana or Aphrodite. She's very vain."

There was silence between them for a moment and downstairs, Bella could hear Alice pattering around the house, no doubt preparing for her birthday celebration. Cringing inwardly, she concentrated on the painting to take her mind off the impending party.

"Honestly, I never would have guessed that your society was matriarchal," she remarked, adopting the same dry tone usually reserved for history teachers.

Edward shook his head in weary amusement. "You sound like a sociologist."

Her eyebrows darted upward. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "But I wouldn't be so quick to label our society. The Volturi may have been founded by females, but they do have male consorts, you know. Husbands."

"Typical men," Bella muttered, "need to take some of the credit."

Edward was wise enough to stifle a smile.

Looking past the trio of women, Bella noticed a slight, retiring form in the shadows.

"Is…is that Carlisle?" she asked, leaning closer and squinting to better make out the indistinct figure's face.

He didn't answer her for a long minute.

"Well, is it?" she prompted him eagerly.

Edward seemed about to speak. His lips parted, framing the syllables to her name. "Yes, Bella, it is. He lived with them…for a few decades, at least."

"What were they like?"

"He doesn't really-"

"Come on, Edward." She tugged at his hand affectionately, but he was looking away, something akin to hesitance making him frown.

"I don't know. As I was going to say, Carlisle doesn't like to talk about them. He says they were refined…well, as refined as killers can be. They treated humans like cattle, but respected the arts. Sulpicia in particular liked music. She used to patronize Italian composers. I'm sure there's an opera or two that she commissioned. But she had other…_interests_, according to Carlisle."

"Like what?" Bella asked, suddenly aware that the tawny-haired vampire's painted eyes were on her.

Edward waved his hand. "The law, I suppose. The Volturi are what you would call enforcers. They make sure we keep the existence of our kind a secret from humans. And if something happens…if we are conspicuous." He trailed off with a half-shrug.

Suddenly, she understood. "Oh God," Bella muttered, rubbing her arms vigorously against the sudden chill that descended on the usually cozy room. "Don't even talk about that, Edward. I can't imagine anyone hurting you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied and gratefully, she accepted his waiting embrace.

* * *

March 20, 2006--Volterra, Italy

Bella's body was crushed against his, her every heartbeat sending agonizing waves of desire mingled with renewed terror. _How could I have been so selfish_? Edward thought dismally, _how could I have led her into this trap?_

Sulpicia surveyed him from a mere foot away, her Gallic features alight with perverse fascination. "Dear Edward," she said, flicking her wrist casually. "Has Carlisle not taught you patience? I told you not to provoke us. Now, you force my hand."

A growl rose in Edward's throat and he pressed Bella closer to him, painfully aware of just how fragile her body was. "There were no laws broken."

From behind him, he heard Alice emit a dry-sob, disguised to sound like a sigh. Edward, however, knew better. She was just as terrified as Bella and yet, she had raced to Italy, risking the inevitable wrath of the Volturi only to deliver him from maddened impulse.

And now, they might all die.

The guards stood close, reminding Edward, as they had in the city streets, that death was but inches away…mere inches.

New terror dawned on Edward, as he realized that he alone had condemned his beloved. The grate situated in the floor of the atrium revolted him and he almost retched, thinking of Bella's spilled blood swirling down it to the sewers.

_No, this cannot happen_.

Sulpicia had turned away from him, was now consulting with her like-minded sisters, Athenodora and Didyme. A decision, once reached, would be set in the stone.

Edward shut his eyes, feeling the heat of his pyre already.

"Bella," he whispered, inclining his head so that his breath stirred the top of her dark hair, "I love you."

She shifted in his arms and faced him, her smile watery. "Yeah, I know."

Sulpicia suddenly whirled about, her heady scent cloying in the chilly air of the atrium. "I wish to speak to Edward alone," she said.

And at once, Felix stepped forward to wrench him from Bella's embrace and into the shadows.

"I won't leave her!" he grated desperately.

Sulpicia smiled wryly. "On my honor, she will not be harmed."

Seated upon her throne, Didyme laughed.

Edward groaned out loud, finally giving voice to his mounting dread. Bella, however, was more composed.

"Just go with her," she whispered, reaching past Felix's bulky arms to squeeze his hand. "I'll be all right. Alice is with me."

"I'll take care of her, Edward," his sister remarked reassuringly. "Haven't I done a good job so far?"

Alice's attempt at humor fell flat, though he managed a smile for her.

"We shan't be long," Sulpicia said. She was already gliding out of the atrium and into a yawning corridor. "Come now, young Edward."

* * *

The first thing Edward noticed in Sulpicia's study was the grand piano. It was a magnificent piece; a sleek, enticing instrument that readily granted an air of refinery to the otherwise cold room.

Sulpicia acknowledged his interest with a nod and deftly lifted the lid, revealing rows of polished ivory interrupted only by tapering lengths of ebony.

"Do you play?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Good. I should like to hear something." She skimmed her palm along the jade cushion of the bench and bade him sit. "Play me a piece Bella enjoys. And remember, this is your chance to impress me." Her expression bordered on coy.

Edward turned away so that she wouldn't see his frown, sitting with his back ramrod straight before the keys. Sulpicia was standing just behind him and he felt the fabric of her tasteful black slacks brush against his lower spine.

His fingers trembled.

Carlisle had told him little of his time in Volturi, so little that as a young vampire, Edward's curiosity grew to outright suspicion. What exactly was his mentor keeping from him? And more importantly, why?

A year or two after he had been changed, when his powers were raw and exciting, he took it upon himself to pry into Carlisle's mind. The memories he found there were unexpected…and unpleasant.

A feather-light touch upon his shoulder brought him back to painful reality. Sulpicia's hands framed his neck, her icy palms pressing down, down…

"Play," she commanded, her voice still infected with a slightly alien accent that he knew came from her days as a Roman colonist living in Gaul.

Edward hesitated. Her hands were still on his shoulders. But then he thought of Bella and somehow, his fingers began to move.

His first piece was by Beethoven, the short, staccato-influenced _Sonata for Piano No. 31 in A-Flat Major._

Sulpicia said nothing when he had finished, so he continued with a less conventional song--_Eleanor Rigby_ by the Beatles.

"Very pretty," she commented, once the last echo of the tinkling keys had died out. "But of course, your Bella is very pretty, isn't she?"

Edward took his hands off the keys and placed them in his lap, clenched. "Please," he said, "can we get on with this?"

" Ah, Romeo, Romeo," Sulpicia replied. She leaned forward so that her hair fell over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Edward, but I despise the Shakespearian allegory. It's so very commonplace. Surely you can come up with something more clever."

"I can't apologize for my taste, Sulpicia." The muscles in Edward's jaw tensed. "Is that why you are keeping me here?"

She sniffed, playing the part of the weary autocrat. "A Capulet should not love a Montague. You know that. The law is clear. I'm surprised Carlisle let you stray so far." He heard her teeth click slightly as she spoke the name, clearly a physical manifestation of some hidden emotion she kept carefully locked away.

"It's not his fault," Edward said. He was desperate to defend his family, especially his benevolent patriarch who had already sacrificed so much for those he loved.

"You feel guilty," Sulpicia replied. Her hands moved up his shoulders, cupping his jaw with exquisite tenderness. "I could kill you all for this. Empires are built on death, after all. It is a hard lesson to learn, young Edward, and I would weep for your naivety."

With the edge of her thumbs, she stroked his cheeks, the rest of her fingers falling over his lips.

Edward sat perfectly still until, at length, she released him. And when she did, there was an undeniable ache in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably on the piano bench and tried to conceal his arousal.

Is this what Carlisle had endured under her calculated witchery? But he couldn't think of such things now…couldn't fasten his mind around a faint reprise of the past…

Sulpicia paced across the room.

"Are you frightened?" she asked, then quickly added, "ah, forgive me! I phrased my query poorly. Let me try again. Are you frightened for Bella or yourself?"

Edward cleared his throat, all too happy to focus on Bella once more.

"For both our sakes," he replied.

Sulpicia looked genuinely intrigued. She even arched a brow. "Then you are not entirely selfless. I would have expected Carlisle to teach you better."

Edward felt his eyes widen when she mentioned his father's name once more. Sulpicia, perfectly astute, noticed his expression.

"Let us talk about Carlisle," she said, striding back to the piano and letting her delicate hands dangle by her sides. "I do not deny that I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here, Edward. My sisters, however, wouldn't appreciate my interest in a…what does he call himself now?…a vegetarian?"

"There is nothing I can tell you about Carlisle," Edward said stonily, hoping beyond hope that Sulpicia would be quick to dismiss the topic.

She didn't.

"Ah, Carlisle." Her red eyes stared at a vague spot beyond him, as though she were examining the past and enjoying a particularly fond memory. "Beautiful Carlisle. Is he still so handsome? Oh, but how can I ask this? Of course he is. Ivory and gold."

Edward's revulsion grew with her every word. Despite his best efforts, unwanted thoughts crept into his mind. He imagined Sulpicia, her narrow legs encircling his waist, skillful hips teaching him the true music of the soul…the music of love.

Her hands touching him, caressing him…

His head thrown back in a scream…

A sudden shock jolted Edward's limbs. Sulpicia had perched herself on the piano bench next him and her fingers worked the keys. He didn't recognize the song she was playing and guessed it to be an original composition.

The musical phrases were long, ponderous. A valley of incredible depths surmounted by dizzying peaks.

As every note struck the air, Edward was reminded of what he had inadvertently gleaned from Carlisle so many years ago and in his disgust, gave the memories a voice.

"You wanted him for your concubine."

He was off the piano bench in a flash, his footsteps muted by the dark braided rug underfoot.

"What?" Both of Sulpicia's eyebrows were raised now and she ceased playing. "Is that what he told you? He can be so very righteous sometimes, so very-"

"Shamed," Edward spat out, "by you!"

"Shamed? By Juno, no! Never." She shook her head and permitted herself a rare laugh. "Allow me to tell you the truth, young Edward. Yes, I sought Carlisle for my paramour and he was, for a time. But no one could make a concubine of that man. And no one could force him. Our affair was entirely mutual."

"I don't believe you." Edward was now shaking with rage. With great difficulty, he forced his mind to Bella and tried to calm himself. He needed to get out of here alive, no matter what Sulpicia intended for them both.

She flicked her hand at him, the silver bracelets on her wrists jingling like tiny bells. "Your suggestion is hideous."

"And you're a monster."

"Dear Edward." Sulpicia offered him a derisive smile. "There are no monsters in this world. Only us. Only you and me." She rose and lightly touched his chest.

He ground his heels into the carpet, fighting his reaction to her caress.

Sulpicia released him. "Very well. We have distracted ourselves from the matter at hand. Back to business, as your crude human sweetheart would say."

There was a noticeable undertone to her voice that he didn't want to identify. Jealousy?

"May we have your leave to return to our home?" he dared to ask her.

And from somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt hope bloom.

Sulpicia flashed her teeth. "Not yet. And do not assume generosity on my part. You have disobeyed my sisters and I. Why should we be lenient?"

"No laws were broken."

"You have revealed yourself to a human. That is enough to condemn you all."

They were silent for a space. Edward watched her breast rise and fall rhythmically beneath her silken, dark blouse.

"Are you fond of romances?" she asked him after a moment had past.

Edward did not answer her.

"I am not," Sulpicia continued, quite ignoring him. "But there is one tale I do enjoy, perhaps you know it…_The Lady or the Tiger_."

"Yes," he replied stiffly. "Though only the ending is clear to me."

"A woman must choose," Sulpicia explained, "between her lover's life, albeit in the arms of another, or his death."

"And you want me to make such a choice now?" Edward prompted her. He was thoroughly sickened.

"No, I have no intention of killing anyone today," Sulpicia said. Lazily, she reached behind her and snapped the lid closed over the keys. "But I will give you a choice. I have not maintained my empire through leniency and there will be punishment where punishment is due. You may either stay here in Volterra with us or I shall turn Bella myself and keep her in your place. What shall it be, my dashing Romeo?"

He stared at her, hands unclenched, jaw locked. "It is no wonder Carlisle left you," he said, daring to provoke the beast. "You are a wretched woman."

"That, I'm afraid, is a matter of opinion. But I can tell you now, Carlisle did not always feel such resentment towards me. In fact, he _thoroughly_ enjoyed his time here."

"You'll never have anyone to love you, not even your husband Aro," Edward snarled. For the first time, he noticed a flicker of true rage intrude upon Sulpicia's natural stoicism. But it was gone in a moment and afterwards, he was sure he had imagined it.

"Choose," she demanded, "now."

"I never will."

"Then I will toss her drained corpse upon your pyre. Do you not understand the true meaning of sacrifice? _Choose_."

The true meaning of sacrifice? Edward dropped his gaze. This has nothing to do with sacrifice, but rather, was born from sickness, revenge and no little heartbreak.

He hesitated.

_I love you, Bella._

The words flowed forth from him before he could stop them. "I will stay," Edward panted. "I will stay if you let Bella go."

Sulpicia raised her eyes to him and offered him a brilliant smile. "Bravo," she said, clapping her hands. "Bravo."

* * *

September 13, 2005--Forks, WA

Carlisle met Edward and Bella on their way out of his study, his hands folded genteelly behind his back.

"I can delay Alice no longer," he said with a warm laugh. "You better get Bella downstairs quickly, Edward, or your sister will have all our heads."

"Ugh," Bella cringed, then blushed as she remembered herself. "I don't mean to seem to ungrateful, but-"

"It's perfectly understandable," Carlisle interjected. "Birthdays were never my cup of tea either."

Together, they approached the top of the stairs, Edward's arm slung casually around his Juliet's shoulder. Carlisle took the rear.

"Oh, by the way," Bella said, pausing for an instant on the first step, "Edward showed me the painting in your study…the one of the Volturi. It's gorgeous!"

"Yes." His reply was automatic.

And had Alice not distracted her with a delighted squeal, Bella would have seen the ugly guilt that for once, rendered Carlisle's face curiously dark. Lingering in the upstairs hall, he shut off the lamp in his study and locked the door behind him.


	2. Part Two The Garden of Earthly Delights

**Author's Note:** Yes! This story will be continued. I have taken all of my wonderful readers' feedback into account and drafted three additional chapters to accompany the first.

As always, I must thank everyone who took the time to read/review/favorite. This chapter is especially dedicated to you. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Part Two The Garden of Earthly Delights**

_Little sisters, you seem so estranged,_

_Some may dress and act the glamour'd part, but they'll never have…_

_A woman's heart_

_Excerpt from "Boudiccea" by Faith and the Muse_

The Volturi kept him imprisoned.

Over the course of his stay beneath the bowels of the castle, Edward concocted a series of equally plausible histories for his narrow cell. At first, he likened the cramped alcove to a torture chamber. A grim holding place for those condemned to the torment of the rack or the Iron Maiden.

Or perhaps the cell was in fact part of a larger wine cellar, he reasoned. Something left over from the human architecture of the castle and abandoned until the inhuman tenants had need of a pantry, a cool place to store blood as opposed to a lighter libation.

But then again, his cell could have just as easily been a catacomb and as Edward shuffled his feet on the bedrock floor, he thought he felt his toes brush against some saintly martyr's bones.

And thus he passed the days, days which were devoid of light and sound and space to stand without ducking his head.

Vampires, he mused, were supposed to be adapted to such unwelcoming crypts. Hadn't Bella herself been surprised when he confessed to never sleeping in a coffin?

But ah…there was pain in every thought now. In every faint mention of her name.

_Bella_.

Before Edward had been locked away by an all too eager Felix, he had the distinct pleasure of watching the love of his life leave Volterra. Sulpicia had been true to her word. Bella was released…in exchange for his continued to captivity.

And so he was forced to endure a rather poor pantomime of Poe's _Cask of Amontillado_, although by the seventh day, he began to fancy that his imprisonment was not a punishment, but instead the result of the Volturi's inability to decide exactly what they wished to do with him.

Or so he thought.

Edward had never been claustrophobic and he kept himself distracted by reconstructing the fantastic histories of his cell, wondering just who might have been kept there before him.

It wasn't until the end of the second week that his resistance shattered. Later, upon thinking back to the exact moment his restraint left him, Edward couldn't rightly say his descent into panic was gradual.

It came on suddenly. A blink of the eye. Inhale. Exhale.

And then he was screaming into the dark. Screaming and scraping his fists against the wall until the falling dust matted his hair.

There was no door, he realized. No door that he could feel with his hands. Only four solid walls.

God, they had sealed him in. Sealed him in for eternity.

And he could not die…

_Bella. Bella._

He shouted her name until his lips cracked, his voice dying with a final guttural protest. But the dark did not cede, no, it never ceded.

No one came for him.

After that, it wasn't long before the hunger set in.

Before coming to Volterra, Edward had not fed as regularly as he should have, more distracted by his longing for Bella than any physical starvation. Now he realized that he _must_ drink. Venom wetted his tongue in anticipation, but nothing came. His throat rasped dryly.

Edward stopped trying to keep track of the time. Day and night eluded him, while he kicked his aching legs against the unforgiving stone, wishing, begging to be let out.

If only he could stand up straight…

Starvation took its toll. His skin began to feel thin and fragile, draped around his bones like a pall on a corpse.

He bit his own wrist, prayed for blood, but was rewarded with only the taste of his broken flesh. In a frenzy, he shredded his clothes, drove his head against the wall, and, at length, resigned to die.

But even suicide was denied him.

Matters of life and death, of justice and salvation, rested in the hands of _them_. And they would not release him.

Or so he thought, until there was a sound outside his cell and he gathered the strength to raise his head, and see light…

Through a distortion of shapes and impressions, he made out the square lines of two prim, black shoes. Someone had opened a door…the door to his cell and the sensory onslaught of such a simple act nearly drove him mad.

Edward curled himself up in a ball, guarding his sanity against the things he had so fervently wished for.

A hand slid down his chin, raising him up…to the light.

The scent of blood made his nostrils dilate painfully. Edward extended his tongue and felt it glide across succulent sweetness. The crimson liquid burned his mouth at first and he drank slowly, then greedily, from the palm of an unknown angel.

There was murmuring in the distance. Another hand lit upon the top of his head, stroking back his dirty hair.

Someone sighed.

"Ah, I believe he is ready."

* * *

A length of rain fell upon Volterra. Stirred by the east wind, it whispered of summer and other, thoughtless wishes. Sulpicia had the pleasure of catching several cool drops on her curling eyelashes. She blinked and the water blinded her, etching serpentine patterns down her hollow cheeks.

Her sisters waited under a graceful gazebo.

"Come out of the rain," Athenodora called, her voice the essence of silver, pleasantly fluting. "I have not the temperament for games."

"Harshness pervades," Didyme noted sagely. She sat on a stone bench with her hands in a knot upon her lap. "You know how Sulpicia enjoys the tempest winds."

Hearing her name, Sulpicia turned her head towards the gazebo, more than a little irritated by the disturbance of her serene reverie. "When, I wonder, was the last time you enjoyed this garden?" she asked them.

Didyme smiled. Athenodora, her face proportioned with all the delicacy of a greyhound's, looked wistful.

"Small charms in quiet hours," she said, patting the place between her and Didyme. "Sit with us, sister. We have much to discuss."

Sulpicia offered them both a token of her reluctance, shaking her hair out as she left the rain for the relative shelter of the gazebo. Somewhere overhead, high in the darkening clouds, a jet roared by, its engines distorted to sound like thunder.

Sulpicia sighed. Even in this tiny Eden the outside world managed to encroach. There had been a time when no signs of mortal life dared to intrude upon their private garden, an expanse of lush greenery abutting the castle. Up until the middle of the 15th century, the land had been leftover from the feudal days, when serfs had farmed tiny patches of it and were often felled by a mysterious, blood-draining fever.

Sulpicia, being ever so practical, had the old land walled in and hired the best gardeners and botanists in all of Italy to tend the virgin garden. And after the trees had been planted, the flowers sown and the walkways arranged, she had each of the workers slaughtered so that no one would come to know the secrets of the labyrinth.

It was a gift to herself and her sisters. A place where they might be undisturbed even by their husbands, free to reign and rule. Or simply to dream.

And often, Sulpicia did dream.

Today, however, she could afford no peace. Only business. Didyme and Athenodora were eager to smooth over the sticky remnants of the St. Marcus day incident. Sulpicia, for her part, couldn't rightly blame them.

"This is most assuredly about our dear little Edward," she said, accepting Athenodora's invitation and settling herself between the pair.

They were impressive as a trio. The triple goddess. Maiden, mother and crone, sealed by immortality and the feigned blush of youth.

"I'll have you know, he has finally abandoned his abhorrent diet. Jane told me he licked blood from her hands this morning. Like a kitten."

"Our influence is indeed a poison," Didyme remarked wryly. She had always enjoyed sampling some of the coven's faults, although in truth, she was the binding force that kept the Volturi intact. Without her influence, their empire would have dissolved from within. "He will never submit, though. Marcus tells me Edward is enthralled by his human lover. Ah, _la belle dame sans merci_."*

"And what of this Bella?" Athenodora asked, her legs crossed neatly beneath the skirt of her simple sun dress. "Jane was unable to reach her with her powers, as was Aro. I should say this is troubling indeed, especially with the Cullens sheltering her."

Sulpicia listened to her sisters, but couldn't sit still. Her fingers lit upon the carved pillar supporting the gazebo roof and she dug her nails into the crevices. "Ah, the Cullens," she sighed.

There was silence and Didyme looked to the east with alert eyes.

"Carlisle, you mean," she said at length. "Forgive me for encouraging skepticism, but I am worried that you kept young Edward only because he is Carlisle's son."

The insinuation in Didyme's voice irked Sulpicia. She dropped her hand back to her side. "I would never act against Aro's wishes, sister. Certainly you know that. Carlisle was my paramour before ever I married your brother."

The air became tremulous with tension. Indecent puddles formed in the new grass and brought earthworms crawling to the surface.

Sulpicia noted all these things, if only to subdue the sting of Didyme's allusion. There could be no doubt that she loved her husband Aro. Their union, however, had a frightfully political odor to it and she was continually disturbed by the thought of winning her mate through negotiation rather than passion.

Didyme knew all this. After all, she had cajoled her reluctant brother into the marriage after centuries of avoidance on his part.

Athenodora, the supreme diplomat with a voice more resonant than Cicero's, sensed discomfiture.

"Carlisle and his family may pose a problem," she said, pulling both her sisters back into direct conversation. "That bridge, however, need not be crossed prematurely. We must decide what to do with Edward. Is he of any use to the coven?"

"Nominally, yes," Sulpicia remarked. She suddenly felt ill at ease and rose to her feet only to pace about the gazebo. Her sedentary lifestyle of late did not match her warrior appetites. Wars were all too often fought away from Europe now and the power of the Volturi guard excused her presence from the battlefield. Still, she missed a good melee.

Didyme lowered her head slightly, as if ashamed by her previous indiscretion. Her tastefully curled hair formed an crowing mane, masking the proper sensitivity within. "He is desperate to return to Bella--suicidal, maybe."

"Not while there is a threat to her life," Sulpicia put in.

Athenodora nodded in agreement.

"Do we threaten her life?" Didyme asked in response.

The sisters fell silent to consider. From somewhere within the Volturi stronghold, subtle laughter fluttered and danced. A guard making merry, indulging in sport, perhaps, with his afternoon meal.

Sulpicia felt the venom pool in her mouth and was reminded that she needed to feed. _Soon._

"I do not like this Bella," she admitted. "And I like her less alive."

"Why, then, did you not change her?" Athenodora puckered her lips in thought.

"Because she is immune to our powers. Do you not see the danger in that?"

"You wish her killed then?" Didyme looked skeptical and at length, she stood, taking to the opposite side of the gazebo where a slight breeze blew the rain in a playful spray. "It would have to be a discreet venture."

"No need to upset the Cullens," Athenodora added.

"And then Edward is ours for the taking." Sulpicia glanced at Didyme, leaving her plan open to criticism.

Her sister took the bait readily. "I doubt it would be so easy," she said in a neutral tone. "Marcus observed Edward's strong connection to the human. It is nearly unbreakable. Or, on the other hand, too fragile. Sever it and he will be destroyed. We might as well kill him outright than have a limp puppet."

"I trust Marcus's judgment," Sulpicia said. And it was true. Marcus was a worthy consort for Didyme and his wisdom had never led the coven astray. Often, Sulpicia found herself relying on his advice, which was generally impartial and ultimately sound.

"Chelsea may add us in persuading Edward to be supine," Athenodora noted, her grey eyes suddenly narrowed. "Or Jane, if it should come to it. And his gifts would certainly not go to waste. If only he would join us freely…"

Sulpicia wrapped one of her arms around a pillar, a feral smile twisting her lips. "Where is the challenge in that, my dear?"

"Caius would agree with you," Athenodora replied.

"Then what is our decision?" Sulpicia leaned forward, listening to the soft aria of her sisters' breathing.

Didyme looked askance. Athenodora adjusted her hands and sighed.

_And thus it is played_, Sulpicia thought wryly to herself. _I shall speak for all of us._

"Edward lives," she said to them with practiced authority. "But if he does not submit readily…he dies."

"And Bella?" Didyme said.

Sulpicia studied the faint patterns in the stones beneath her feet. "It is too much too soon. The Cullens would surely rebel if we pressed them to be rid of her."

"A waiting game, then," Athenodora concluded.

"So long as time permits." Sulpicia let her arm slide off the pillar and raised her chin.

Athenodora picked up on the meager signal and stood. "When shall we three meet again?"

"In thunder, lightning or in rain?" Didyme echoed, holding one hand out to catch several drops in her pale palm.

"When the hurlyburly 's done," Sulpicia told them both, striding out readily into the storm. "When the battle 's lost and won "

* * *

Sometime after feeding, Edward became aware of movement. His body was shifted off the stone floor of his prison by ungentle hands and borne through a shrouded labyrinth. Try as he might, he could not restore his senses past a pleasant fogginess, which kept his mind impotent to changes of scenery and a myriad of delectable, new scents.

Vague, fairy lights passed before his eyes and he envisioned phantom creatures, blessed by a moonlit night to dance and laugh and mock him in his humiliating state of powerlessness.

Every now and then, at the turn of a passage, the hands beneath him would change position, pressing against some sore spot near his spine. He cried out in protest, but earned only echoing mimicry in return.

Ahead, a portal was opened and tendrils of cool, rain-kissed air danced over his bruised cheeks. The hands disappeared and he felt his weight transferred to a surface of supreme softness.

Edward closed his eyes and sighed.

Stillness pervaded. Long and peaceful. After several minutes, he realized the fog about him was ebbing. With exploratory tenderness, he ran his fingers over the surface beneath him. There was a blanket, a down mattress and small head cushion. Reaching out, he touched a gauzy curtain and deduced himself to be resting upon an old canopy bed.

A wry smile lifted Edward's lips. His new quarters, as Bella would say, were an upgrade from the damp prison that had recently housed him. Drinking human blood had far reaching benefits and for a while, he allowed himself to be free of guilt.

Carlisle would certainly understand.

Reveling in his comfortable surroundings, Edward opened his eyes and tried to make out more of the room. His sight was still wretchedly obscured and in the distance, beyond the bed curtains, he could only make out a shadow of a figure.

And then the music began.

An unwelcome chill crept up his spine, urged by the faint tinkling of piano keys and a light, high voice. Someone was singing an old, old song that once had a name, a name he could no longer remember.

Edward tensed under the throb of the music, his muscles coiling, venom pooling into his mouth.

But his apprehension was unwarranted. The melody soon slipped into a stirring legato, lulling him into a stupor that was so akin to blissful tranquility.

Edward found himself relaxing, his head crushed against the cushion, his arms and legs like water. He could not help but think of Bella now, _his_ Bella. Visions of her simple beauty trailed across his mind's eye, tempting him to arousal. The music aided his desire, as he pictured her in his arms, in the meadow, with only the sky and sun to blanket their skin.

And he would press her to him, without fear that she would break and Bella…she welcomed him.

He imagined his fingers twisting in her hair, curling down to the swell of her breasts and smooth stomach.

They kissed, freely, innocently, captives of some wicked dance that had tormented the balance of life and sanity.

Goaded by the music, urged by crescendos and the trill of an unbridled voice, he dropped his hand to Bella's womanhood and stroked her lovingly. A gasp. A virgin's cry. And then he roamed inside her, caressing her soft petals, drenched as they were with inviting nectar.

The music dropped, disappeared and then regained its footing on a new note of trembling voracity. Edward could not help but be disturbed by the uncanny change, but allowed his mind to charge ahead in his sweet reverie.

Gazing up, he eagerly wished to take in Bella's familiar visage, but was startled beyond measure when he saw Sulpicia instead.

She was naked and astride him, one hand twirling her sumptuous plait of red hair.

A cry rose from the base of Edward's throat, but died as he opened his mouth to accept her lips. Her kiss was full and warm, promising a passion he had never conjured within himself before…or perhaps, with Bella.

He wanted to recoil, to withdraw from her and return to the safe fantasy he entertained of himself with his human lover. But Sulpicia was insistent and she called to him with a voice that was singing, and sighs that spoke of airy melodies and arias.

Edward joined her, uncertainly, and was soon seized by a spreading warmth that started in his loins and climbed to his chest to his head, infecting his mind with delirious frenzy.

Sulpicia was not a gentle lover and she drove him hard, unforgiving in her demands and her lust. And he thought of her as Queen Maeve, watchful, unforgiving and mad.

She brought him to the brink and his climax was shattered with a cry of awakening.

The music stopped.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, Edward realized he was alone, save for the vague figure who kept a silent watch over his fitful hallucinations.

"That will do, Alec," a steely, feminine voice uttered. "You may release him now."

All at once, the wave of fog fell away from Edward and his sight cleared, showing him the androgynous form of Alec standing by his bedside, smirking.

Edward groaned softly, realizing that he must have been kept effectively sedated by Alec's witchcraft while the guard transferred him from his prison to the bed chamber. Rubbing his temples fiercely, he struggled to regain his former sense of equilibrium and control.

The recently ingested blood colored his cheeks with shame.

Heels sounded over the wooden floor and a second figure loomed by his bedside. The lacey curtains were ripped open and Sulpicia stuck her head in, observing him with slight annoyance.

"You have been granted a rare privilege," she said. "Continue to feed on humans and you shall be allowed to live in comfort. Do we have an understanding?"

Edward did not answer her at once. Instead he found himself studying her form. She was fully clothed, her hair pulled back in a neat bun and she showed absolutely no signs of her former passion.

Behind her, he glimpsed an antique, upright piano and guessed that she had distracted herself with playing while awaiting his arrival.

And thus had he listened to the mysterious music.

Reality begin to piece itself together, although he felt some measure of nagging concern over his reverie, which had clearly been invited by his own feverish mind.

"Yes," he managed to choke out at length, "I understand."

"Wonderful," Sulpicia replied, her voice hard and callous. "Come, Alec."

The guard followed his mistress out of the room and when the door had closed, Edward curled himself up on the sinfully soft bed and shut his eyes once more.

_It was just a dream. _

* * *

Aro favored Mozart, but he was playing Beethoven this evening. The Pastoral Symphony. Sweeping strings competed ably with French horns, setting a tempo that was both beguiling and whimsical. Too whimsical. But then again, Aro had always been whimsical.

And Sulpicia loved him for it.

In the sanctuary of their private apartments, she let her hair down from its tight knot and threw off her regal blazer, which outside the walls of Volterra, would have marked her as a stylish businesswoman. A woman of the modern world. A CEO trotting about the globe with the stereotypically briefcase and cell phone in hand.

The truth of her essence, of course, was much deeper.

Aro was sitting casually on the sumptuous dark wood settee (appropriately upholstered in mauve velvet) that Sulpicia had imported from England sometime during the reign of Queen Victoria and had never sought to replace. Likewise, the furnishinsg of other rooms, including the bed chamber, were out of date, all purchased no later than the 1891, the year they had wed.

It was a short time ago, considering Sulpicia had known Aro in the days when Rome was but a thought and Alexander, some hotheaded Macedonian, was spearheading his armies through Greece.

And centuries later, she wasn't certain she entirely understood her mate, at least, not in the way Athenodora and Didyme understood their husbands.

Perhaps that was because her marriage had been arranged.

Aro, of course, never forgot that.

"I have lately come from our most maudlin guest," Sulpicia said, hoping to snag her husband's attention and notorious curiosity. "Young Edward would make a fair poet…some legendary consumptive sufferer, I'd wager."

Aro was resting his arm casually on the back of the settee, ever so dapper in his pressed suit and button-down shirt. "You are wasting your time with him. Kill the boy and be done with it." His sharp sentiments were coated with the perfect veneer of propriety, his feathery voice so very apt at disguising true ruthlessness.

Sulpicia smiled at him, her expression melting from tireless tyrant to loving wife. "He is talented, does that not interest you, my darling?" She held out her hand to him and after a moment, he took it, placing his lips on her fingers. "I'm sure we could find a use from him yet."

"You could," Aro remarked. Gently, he tugged at her arm and she lowered herself onto his lap, grateful to be in his company.

"Are you reading my thoughts?" Sulpicia asked him. The symphony was winding down, the last breathe of the horns exhaling in a delicious gust of legato. "I can hear your mind working."

She placed the tip of her forefinger in the space between his eyes.

Aro blinked uncomfortably and pulled her finger away. "This Edward intrigues you." His expression was shrewd.

"In a common way, yes."

"As I recall, his maker intrigued you as well."

"This is an unfortunate parallel you draw," Sulpicia said and could not withhold the hurt from her voice. Surely Aro knew better than anyone else just how greatly she loved him …and had always loved him.

He must have sensed her disturbance and to soothe the wound, he offered her a guileless smile. "Is this Edward so very much like Carlisle?"

"Not at all." She pressed her hand to his, her fingers flush against his lined palm. _Would you have followed me into death? _she could not help but wonder. _Would you have had the courage of this Bella Swan?_

Aro's expression was open and soft, even though Sulpicia knew he must have heard her thoughts.

Instead, he ignored her.

Her jaw clenched in anger, rage directed only at herself for being so useless…so unable to please him.

What more could she give?

But in truth, it was not so much what Aro wanted, rather, what he could never have.

Power. Complete sovereignty.

Marcus and Caius were content to remain consorts. Yet Aro, yes, Aro, wanted to be an emperor in his own right.

And oh, that never could be.

Sulpicia felt her body tense as the symphony ended, bringing with it an aching silence that could not mask the profound awkwardness between them. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw and gazed at her beloved husband with eyes that burned for want of tears.

Aro, as usual, was much more concise.

"I do not trust the slow simmer of your heart," he said, remembering his duty and tastefully unfastening the topmost buttons of her blouse. "There is something deadly beneath."

"You say I am misguided?" Sulpicia asked. And because she was indeed enthrall to him, she slide her hips forward against his waist, ready to accept the true union she so longed for.

"No." A sigh edged Aro's voice was subtle reluctance. "I say you are dangerous. And woe betide the Cullens. The son must now pay for the father's mistake."

* * *

*_La belle dame sans merci--_The beautiful lady without pity. Didyme is referencing a poem of the same name by John Keats, in which a beautiful elfin lady enchants a chaste knight, making him fall in love with her only to abandon him. The knight is then doomed to mourn her loss for eternity. Although Didyme clearly speaks of Edward and Bella, she could also be alluding to Sulpicia's relationship with her uninterested husband.


	3. Part Three Alcina

**Author's Note: **Ah, I've been dreadfully remiss in the world of Twilight fanfiction over the past few months. Unfortunately, my spring semester was quite torturous homework-wise and I had to put aside my stories for a brief time to concentrate on such ugly things as research papers and power point presentations. But now, at last, I am free to write once more. This chapter was actually written months ago and I never posted it for want of editing. However, I forced myself to go over it again tonight and I've decided to post it "as is", otherwise this story would never continue.

As always, I must thank everyone who has taken the time to read/review/favorite this story so far. You have my undying gratitude and appreciation. And if you're still interested in this story, please let me know. Feedback always makes my day. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Part Three Alcina**

_But anger is such energy, beautiful if controlled,_

_A slow simmer, the sharpening of teeth._

_---Excerpt taken from "Boudiccea" by Faith and the Muse. _

Near the end of Act I of Handel's "Alcina", Chelsea entered Sulpicia's private box, her face tensed to the point of breaking.

"He wants to see you, Mistress" the guard whispered. Her voice was a mere echo above the stirring orchestra.

"Aro?" Sulpicia replied dryly, fanning open her program with nimble fingers. She was too intent on the opera to entertain guests--even her husband--at the moment. It wasn't every day that a baroque operawas performed so effortlessly. And it was during the first act in particular that Sulpicia found herself able to close her eyes and drift back to days of antiquated beauty and charm…days that she so sorely missed.

Whoever was darkening her door now had best have an explanation handy.

Chelsea seemed to know this and she hesitated. "No, Mistress. It is not Master Aro. Carlisle Cullen is here. He…he is most insistent."

Sulpicia kept her eyes on the stage, watching the performers staggered about the set like little porcelain dolls. Morgana, the haughty sorceress appropriately coiffed in an towering 18th century wig, was gloating over her new lover. The dulcet, resonant tones of the triumphant soprano mingled with the irreverent heartbeats of the mortal audience below.

_Tornami a vagheggiar, _

_te solo vuol' amar_

_quest' anima fedel_

Long-lost memories returned to her slowly, accompanied by an uncomfortable tightening sensation in her chest. Sulpicia nodded imperceptibly.

"I will see him."

She waited until Chelsea had left before lowering her gaze, her ears no longer astutely attuned to the aria. So he had come to her at last.

Sulpicia wasn't the least bit surprised, in truth. Dear, tender Carlisle! He was ever the paternal figure…certainly not one to abandon one of his sheep, no matter how far the creature had strayed.

She savored his predictability with a smile. How very ironic that he should come to meet her in the opera house. Surely he knew that diplomacy was best matched with the intrigue of high art. And Sulpicia had always been such skillful at weaving fancies…at making men believe in the reality of the dream.

Unconsciously, she dusted off the trousers of her smart dress suit. The darkness of the theater provided a suitable mask to cover any imperfections, but still, she wondered just how sharp his memory was. Would he still think she was beautiful now?

Somehow, she doubted it.

Immortality had preserved her, but what age did not show upon the flesh, it branded upon the soul.

And she had aged greatly.

But ah, it was no matter. No matter when triumph belonged to her. Sulpicia cast an appreciative eye on the victorious Morgana.

_If only I could sing for joy…_

After an agonizing moment, Carlisle Cullen was admitted into her box, the red-paneled door shutting behind him with a quiet click. He stood there for a moment, a column of ivory amongst velvet opulence.

Sulpicia did not look at him. She couldn't trust herself to. Instead, she gestured to the empty chair by her right.

He sat.

"You are fortunate," she said, tilting her head slightly, exposing the bare flesh of her neck for his inspection. "This is Handel's finest fantasy opera, in my opinion. Morgana thinks she has won the love of the handsome knight Ricciardo. Little does she know that Ricciardo is actually Brandmante, a brave maiden come to rescue her own lover. It's a pleasant farce, isn't it?"

The music swelled and then settled into a lull, the harpsichord providing the necessary trill to accompany the soprano. On stage, Morgana embraced her Ricciardo joyously.

Carlisle cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Sulpicia waited for him to speak and, despite herself, she ached to hear his voice.

_Già ti donai il mio cor _

It had been too long. She had let the decades pass and done nothing, as Athenodora often reminded her. Wounds festered and became stale. But Sulpicia was all too willing to tear them open once more, to let the blood run fresh.

She flicked her tongue along her lips.

"If I remember correctly," Carlisle said slowly, sounding like a schoolboy trying to recall a passage once committed to memory. "Brandmante's lover Ruggiero has been put under a spell by Morgana's sister, Alcina."

A lopsided smile puckered Sulpicia's mouth. "_Caro, mio bene, caro_," she muttered.

The tenor of her voice must have startled him. She noticed his sinuous hands clench. A lock of gold hair dropped over his worried brow.

She granted herself a liberty and reached forward, tucking it behind his ear. "Have you heard? I've been married."

"To Aro, yes. Congratulations are in order."

"Thank you."

"Would it trouble you if I said I was surprised to hear such news?"

Sulpicia decided not to argue with him. The past, though tempting, was the past. She must learn to appreciate the present.

Or so Didyme said.

"Why have you come?" She meant to sound friendly, inviting. But Carlisle was ever on guard. She couldn't blame him, truly. If there was anything she could say for herself, it was that she deserved to be feared.

"You know very well…it's my son, Edward."

"That exceedingly sensitive creature. With his Shakespearian allegories."

Carlisle ran his tongue over his teeth, catching her gaze. "Alice told me that you meant to keep him…for yourself."

"I?"

"Is this to be your revenge then? If so, let me plead on behalf of Bella's innocence. She _needs_ Edward."

Sulpicia savored this morsel for a moment. Ah…so all was not well with the Cullens. _Enchanting. _Never before had the promise of domestic chaos been so alluring.

Beyond the closed door, she could hear her guards stirring. The music did little to drown out the awkwardness.

She stood, stretched her legs and leaned over the railing of the box. Down below sat rows and rows of meat.

Humans.

In each of them she could detect pulsing veins, pattering hearts and blood, fresh for the taking.

But the opera wasn't over yet and she was feeling particularly lazy right now.

Memories drifted before her eyes, lethal like the ashes of Vesuvius.

"Do you remember when you used to call me Alcina, Stregoni Benefici?"

Carlisle lifted a brow. He was leaning back slightly in his chair, away from her. Familiar anger made Sulpicia clutch the railing tighter, her nails splintering the mahogany.

"Because you were fickle like her," he replied at length, pretending to watch the opera.

"And now I am bereft of my power?"

"Only if you choose to surrender it."

She scoffed. No, he hadn't changed…much to her disappointment.

Her patience was slipping.

"Have you come to me for help?" Sulpicia asked him plainly. "Do you wish me to subvert the law in your favor, to revoke the judgment my sisters and I passed for the well-being of a lovesick mortal?"

Carlisle seemed to weigh her words. He was silent for a moment, a petitioner quaking in front of a short-tempered monarch. There was violence in the air, pungent, odious violence.

Sulpicia turned her back on the opera and gazed at him.

She was pleased to note that even _he _had the decency to look ashamed. "What has become of Edward?" she questioned, her tone now a nasal quip. "I have never known you to preach self-destruction. Or is it that unhealthy diet of yours?" Sulpicia peered at him, hoping to evoke some of the old ardor she had once known Carlisle to possess.

But he was calm, controlled…and said nothing in response.

Oh how high and mighty he seemed now. She felt the need to get under his skin.

"Your son broke the law. Did you think I would not see him punished? Did you think I would risk the well-being of my empire for a pair of impulsive lovers? No, Edward must learn that life is not the game he's made it out to be."

Carlisle's ears pricked up at this and Sulpicia watched him internally dissect her words, searching for a hidden threat.

"Edward loves Bella," Carlisle said, his hands now open, palms resting on his knees.

"You are nearly as fatalistic as your son. Don't tempt me, Stregoni."

"Did I waste my time in coming here?" he asked.

His question stung her and she was surprised to see that after so many years of callous indifference, he still had the power to wound her.

How _charming_.

But his timing, as always, was perfect.

"This is a sadness," she replied, letting her smile widen until he could see each of her glittering teeth. "If only Edward had listened to instinct. Had Bella come to us as a vampire, we might have been more considerate."

It was a lie - a partial lie. And judging from Carlisle's tightened expression, he had detected her deceit.

The soprano finished her aria, rousing the audience from their enraptured stupor. As the curtain swept over the stage, they all rose as one to applaud. Sulpicia joined them.

* * *

**The Translations for Handel's aria "Tornami a Vagheggiar" are as follows…**

_Tornami a vagheggiar, __te solo vuol' amar, __quest' anima fedel : Return to me to languish, only you it wants to love, this faithful heart. _

__

Già ti donai il mio cor : Already I gave you my heart

_Caro, mio bene, caro : My dear, my good one, my dear_


End file.
